One for Us Redux
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: Warning: Hard M. This wasn't Hell. And Crowley wasn't sure it was torture.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural. Buffy belongs to Whedon, and Supernatural belongs to Kripke. No money made.

**A/N:** This one is inspired by a fanart I did for a contest. If you want to see the art, please visit my LJ at patriciatepes dot livejournal dot com (remove spaces, replace "dots" with actual periods). Also, the title is inspired by a story I did last Fic-a-Day. They don't really have anything in common, save for a single character. If you're interested, you can find it in my list of stories. The setting for this is post S7 of Buffy—not taking the comics into account—and it will have spoilers for the end of S7 of Supernatural, so be warned. Please enjoy!

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**One for Us Redux**

"Oh, come on, Princess," Crowley said, laughing. "I know you can do better than that."

Faith grinned as she straddled the demon—because, yeah, she knew what he was—on the bed.

"And what are you going to do about it? Throw me across the room?" Her ruby lips spread wide. "Kinda counterproductive, if you know what I mean."

Crowley's tongue snaked out, wetting his lips. In a flash, he had her flipped, on her back on the bed, her arms pinned down at the wrist. He grinned down at her. Not exactly a menacing grin, despite his current reign as King of Hell, but one rather like he had just succeeded at winning a game of chess.

"And what, exactly, is it that I would be counter producing?"

Faith laughed, shaking her head so that her chocolate locks splayed across the pillows above her. For a moment, her eyes flickered away to find the nightstand on her left, to the small stack of quartz that she had setting there. One of his demon flunkies had used it like an ash tray. And she had proceeded to kick his ass. Crowley had been very amused.

"Oh, honey, I thought you had caught _all _my hints," she said, wiggling her hips underneath him.

He released her wrists as his hands reached up to the lapels of the long coat he had yet to remove. What could Faith say? It had all been rather impulsive. That's how everything had been from the moment she had met Crowley, back in that dank, dark alleyway halfway across the country from where they were now. Now, it was a pay-by-the-hour motel on the bad side of the city.

Crowley pushed the coat off his shoulders slowly, luxuriously—like this was the best show Faith was ever going to see _ever_. She smiled up at him, doing another wiggle.

"Patience, pet. Don't wanna rush Daddy's performance, do you?" he asked.

Faith frowned. "You know that 'daddy' shit turns me off, right?"

Crowley laughed. "It's funny how you think that I care."

His hands slid down her torso, hovering just at the swell of her breasts—right where the neckline of her square-cut black tank top started. He gripped tight right in the middle of the simple cotton fabric and tore, ripping it right in half. He liked to do this, to impress her with his demon strength. Faith gasped, sucking in air as if the move had been a surprise to her.

"Ooh. Ready to go tonight, are we? No working up needed, like usual?" she asked.

Crowley was unbuttoning the long-sleeved, charcoal gray formal shirt he wore—having already removed the jacket to the suit that had been hidden beneath his coat. He smiled down at her, and as soon as the shirt was off, his right hand came down and traced the black tattoo over her left breast.

"I despise this thing, you know," he said.

Faith leaned up to grin down at the drawn, spiky circular design. Her anti-possession tattoo. She bit her lip lightly, the lids of her eyes lowering seductively.

"Are you gonna punish me for it? _Torture_ me?" she said, flipping their positions once more.

Crowley landed back on his back with a soft "oomph," and a chuckle. His hands reached out for the fly to her leather pants, but Faith was already undoing them, slipping them off along with her heels.

"Me? Torture a slayer? Oh what a dream that is. One that I was looking to complete with you back in the alleyway," he said as he watched her tug at his pants.

"And ever since?" she asked, relieving him of the rest of his clothing.

She was slipping off the black lace underthings she had wearing, taking her time with the lowering of her bra straps. Crowley made no verbal response, and Faith laughed. She could feel his hardness behind her, and she lifted up, letting her entrance hover just out of reach.

"What's stopping you?" she whispered, just inches from his lips.

Crowley drew in his breath, his eyes searching hers. Then, another grin lit up his face—this one decidedly snake-like. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw him curl his right hand into a fist. A force beyond the slayer's control pushed—and pulled—at her, shoving her onto his waiting erection. It hurt as much as it didn't. It felt like someone had literally just yanked at all her internal organs to get her to move. The air knocked out of her, she fell forward, her chin hooking just over Crowley's shoulder.

"Something like that, then, love?" he whispered softly—so softly—into her ear.

It took a moment, but Faith found her breath again. And when she did, she chuckled.

"Is that all you've got?"

He growled, and Faith felt the pain again as her body—against her will—began to move back and forth. Pleasurable sensations waved through her, and after each pleasure wave, a pain one followed. Faith was crying out, her nails digging into the pillows above Crowley's head so hard that the stuffing was coming out in her hands.

"Say 'when,'" Crowley moaned.

Faith bit her lip hard enough to split it, and the all too familiar taste of warm iron spilled onto her tongue. But she held her words. Oh, she wanted this pain to stop, the feeling that all her insides were burning with the hottest fires of Hell. But she was damned if she was gonna let this _demon_ win.

"Fighting it?" Crowley laughed.

Faith felt like oxygen was becoming more of a privilege to her than a necessity. But, the slayer inside of her reared its head.

"Harder," she muttered.

Crowley wasn't laughing anymore. Now, he was growling, deep and guttural. He flipped the two of them once more, and the fire inside stopped. Faith drew in oxygen like she was tasting it for the first time, and Crowley was up on his knees, going as hard as he could.

"Do you like this?" he growled in her face, his lips catching hers as he spoke. "Do you like this, slayer? Do you like knowing that the King of Hell has you at his _absolute_ mercy?"

Faith wrapped her legs around Crowley's waste, gripping tight enough that she sure she heard ribs cracking.

"I don't know. Do I?"

Crowley's eyes were wide, disbelieving. Then, they softened, and he laughed, and he just kept pounding.

It was a battle of wills. It always was between the two of them. Sometimes Crowley won, and Faith would beg him to stop. But sometimes… sometimes Faith could take it, and Crowley just had to eat his own threats of torture, death, and destruction—all the while doing unspeakable acts with a supposed warrior of light.

Faith's back arched, feeling that familiar swell of pleasure peaking. She gasped, her body going limp, as fire—a warm, nurturing fire—spread from her center, out. Crowley chuckled, not losing his motion one bit until, finally, he gasped, spilling inside of her.

They moved to lay side-by-side, not saying a word. Faith's eyes were heavy, and she yawned. All good slayers knew that one of those common sense rules was "don't sleep with a demon in the room." Well, one of those rules was probably also "don't have sex with a demon." But Faith had already broken one, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to hold out against the other.

But the work wasn't done yet.

She rolled over, facing Crowley. Already, he seemed recovered. The power of a demon, she guessed. He was stirring, reaching for his clothes.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He didn't even look at her as he replied, "Oh, I have an appointment to keep, dear."

Faith arched a brow and let another yawn loose. "With who?"

"Oh, just a kid."

"I thought you hated your demons possessing kids. Said it reminded you too much of that Lilith chick."

"An adolescent kid, sweetheart. Can read the words of God, apparently. And I want to make the canary sing."

Faith sat up, her perfectly made disbelieving scoff already escaping.

"Can read the words of God? Really? And you're gonna use him for what? Translating your pen pal letters from the Big Guy?"

Crowley, half dressed, turned to face the slayer.

"It just so happens that he has something I want read."

Faith shrugged. "Fair enough. But you've taken the kid to Hell? Gonna try and scare him into reading for you?"

She wrapped her arms around Crowley's shoulders, hanging on him like she was hanging on his words.

She had to play her part right.

Crowley pried her off, standing to complete his dressing. "Even better. Next best thing, really. A Hellmouth."

With that, he was dressed and gone. And Faith knew he was really gone, not like secretly listening, thanks to the quartz from Willow. It was now glowing a bright yellow. With a grin, Faith reached into her discarded pants' pocket, withdrawing her phone. She hit the speed dial and had an answer on the first ring.

"Cleveland," she said to the person waiting on the other end. "He's taken the prophet kid to Cleveland, to the Hellmouth."

"Thanks," Buffy said. "Keep up the good work."

The line disconnected. Faith yawned again, laying back.

Yeah, sure. She'd do just that.


End file.
